Grassroots
311
Capricorn,
1994
Reviewed by
Troy Carpenter
Fusion: The catchphrase started popping up in CD reviews everywhere in the '90s,
as bands proliferated like rabbits to the point where traditional genres began to blur.
But in only a few modern cases have artists dropped albums that truly fuse traditional
musical aesthetics and traverse new avenues by bringing together traits not previously
found side-by-side.
311 is one of these rare artists, and Grassroots is a rare album. Aside from
introducing the motivation and setting the style for the power rock/rap mixture that has
dominated the late '90s, the album also floats through pool-hall reggae, dreamy pop, and
the indescribable Omaha Stylee along the way.
It captures the band at a crucial moment -
sandwiched between the raw power and naïvete of debut Music and the slick
production/refined sound of the group's self-titled third album, Grassroots is
311 at its most adventurous. Afforded studio luxury but not feeling particularly loyal to
any fanbase, the band explores its creative possibilities through a jungle of ganja smoke.
The basic set-up is this: guitarist Timothy J. Mahoney lays down grooves based on circular
mutations of Sabbath/Soundgarden-esque riffs. Bassist P-Nut and drummer Chad Sexton weave
around these with quick-change precision, and vocalists Nick Hexum and SA Martinez trade
flavorful raps on their way to the upbeat chorus, often sung by Hexum. The heavy guitar
sound often draws comparisons to Korn-y bands, but Mahoney's distinct riffing style sets
311 apart. He creates crafty, whistleable solos over his own grooves, and his rhythm
guitar work thrives in the court of Sexton and P-Nut's dead accuracy.
While Nick is the real vocal author and leader of the band, Martinez gives Grassroots
its delicious flavor. He's a spicy spark plug on the mic, rapping with urgency and
dexterity, and offsetting some of Hexum's inherent cheesiness, due to surface too
obviously on some of the band's later work. "Taiyed" is a fresh breath,
Mahoney's lyrical guitar flowing through Martinez' musings about the afterlife so
effortlessly that the listener is left unsure if Martinez was rapping or singing.
Whether consummating the party vibe of "Grassroots," slamming through the taut
luminosity of "Six", or humming a midwestern love ode in "8:16 A.M.",
311 cultivates a style all its own on Grassroots. It's an original and inventive
effort that takes the '90s for what it's worth: an era of experimentation, of breaking
boundaries, of having fun.
